Written by Oluwaseun Alele

Our house had one door, seven sons, and two women.

Cuss words littered the air;

Bastard sons of ten thousand fathers.

Reeved in penury, hot steamed poverty.

Stones for pillow, dust socked our feet.

We were living backwards,

From death beds to daily bread,

Every day was a resurrection.

 

In my father’s house,

There were two pots and ten spoons,

I buried father’s spoon beside his grave,

Left his smile on the portrait.

Mocking, poking,

Reminisce of poker.

He was too high to have a Royal Flush,

He flushed his wealth away in that casino.